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"Bis Broti^er 




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I 






Big Brotfier 


Bnnie jFellows Jebnston 

AUTHOR OF THK LITTLE COLONEL SERIES, “ JOEL : 
A BOY OF GALILEE,” “THE STORY OF 
DAGO,” “aSA holmes,” ETC. 



Illustrated in Colour by 

ifranft XI. /iBerrfU 


) 5 

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J3o0ton 


X. (T. paae & Company 


MDCCCCVII 



UBRI^nYofCONBRESS 
Two Cooks Reciivad 


AUG so 190^ 

CoovncW entry 

(AM Zt 

CLASS A XXe., No. 
COPY □./ 







Copyright, 1893 

5o5cpb Iknlflbt Company 


Copyright, 1907 

:©B X. C. iPaac & Companis 

(incorporated) 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


• • 
• • 
• • • 

# 


COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Prmted by C. If. Simonds b* Co. 
Boston, U. S. A. 




ContentjS 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I. 

Blackberries 

. . I 

II. 

The Waifs .... 

• 13 

III. 

The New Home . 

• 31 

IV. 

Robin Gets into Trouble 

. 41 

V. 

The Separation . 

. 56 

VI. 

The First Snow-storm 

. 67 

VII. 

A Happy Thanksgiving 

. 82 






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PAGE 

.“He knelt down . . . , his chubby 
hands crossed on Big Brother’s 
knee” {See page ^g) . . Frontispiece‘s 

“ Cut several newspapers up into sol- 
diers and dolls ” . . . . 

i8 ^ 

“ Came back, bringing a beautifully il- 
lustrated story-book ” . 

29 

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above the noise of the milk patter- 
ing into the pail ” . . . . 

52 

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and rubbed his hands together 
delightedly” 

59*^ 

“ A blinding snow-storm beat in his 
face” 

70‘^ 

“ ‘ Oh, I can’t go back without seeing 
her’” 

72 " 

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bright little face looked in ” . 

83 " 


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>4 







Big Brotjjer 

CHAPTER I 

BLACKBERRIES 

VERY coach on the long 
western-bound train was 
crowded with passengers. 
Dust and smoke poured 
in at the windows and 
even the breeze seemed 
hot as it blew across the prairie corn- 
fields burning in the July sun. 

It was a relief when the engine 
stopped at last in front of a small vil- 
lage depot. There was a rush for the 
lunch-counter and the restaurant door, 
where a noisy gong announced dinner. 

“ Blackberries ! blackberries ! ” called 
a shrill little voice on the platform. 
A barefoot girl, wearing a sunbonnet. 



I 


Btg Brotljer 






passed under the car windows, holding 
up a basket full, that shone like great 
black beads. A gentleman who had just 
helped two ladies to alight from the 
steps of a parlour car called to her and 
began to fumble in his pockets for the 
right change. 

“ Blackberries! blackberries! ” sang 
another voice mockingly. 
This time it came from a 
roguish-looking child, hang- 
ing half-way out of a win- 
dow in the next car. He was 
a little fellow, not more than 
ithree years old. His hat had 
f fallen off, and his sunny tan- 
gle of curls shone around a 
face so unusually beautiful 
that both ladies uttered an 
exclamation of surprise. 

“ Look, papa! Look, Mrs. 
U' Estel !” exclaimed the 



2 


\ 

Btg JSrotfjer 

r . - ■ 

younger of the two. Oh, isn’t he a 
perfect picture! I never saw such eyes, 
or such delicate colouring. It is an ideal 
head.” 

“ Here, Grace,” exclaimed her father, 
laughingly. “ Don’t forget your ber- 
ries in your enthusiasm. It hasn’t been 
many seconds since you were going 
into raptures over them. They cer- 
tainly are the finest I ever saw.” 

The girl took several boxes from her 
basket, and held them up for the ladies 
to choose. Grace took one mechan- 
ically, her eyes still fixed on the child 
in the window. 

“ I’m going to make friends with 
him ! ” she exclaimed impulsively. 
“ Let’s walk down that way. I 
want to speak to him.” 

“ Blackberries ! ” sang the child 
again, merrily echoing the 




3 


Big 33rot{)fr 






that came from the depths of the big 
sunbonnet as it passed on. 

Grace picked out the largest, juiciest 
berry in the box, and held it up to him 
with a smile. His face dimpled mis- 
chievously, as he leaned forward and 
took it between his little white teeth. 

“ Do you want some more? ” she 
asked. 


His eyes shone, and every 
little curl bobbed an eager 



assent. 


« 


What’s your name, 


dear,” she ventured, as she 
popped another one into his 



mouth. 


“ Robin,” he answered, and 
leaned farther out to look into 
her box. “ Be careful,” she cau- 
tioned; “ you might fall out.” 

He looked at her gravely an in- 
stant, and then said in a 


4 


33tg iSrotijcr 


slow, quaint fashion: “Why, no; I 
can’t fall out, ’cause Big Brother’s a 
holdin’ on to my feet.” 

She drew back a little, startled. It 
had not occurred to her that any one 
else might be interested in watching 
this little episode. She gave a quick 
glance at the other windows of the car, 
and then exclaimed : “ What is it, papa, 
— a picnic or a travelling orphan asy- 
lum? It looks like a whole carload of 
children.” 

Yes, there they were, dozens of them, 
it seemed; fair faces and freckled ones, 
some dimpled and some thin; all bear- 
ing the marks of a long journey on soot- 
streaked features and grimy hands, but 
all wonderfully merry and good-na- 
tured. 

Just then a tired-looking man swung 
himself down the steps, and stood look- 
ing around him, knitting his brows 
5 


JStg 38 rotl}er 


nervously. He heard the girl’s ques- 
tion, and then her father’s reply : ‘‘ I 
don’t know, my dear, I am sure; but 
I’ll inquire if you wish.” 

The man’s brows relaxed a little and 
he answered them without waiting to 
be addressed. “ They are children sent 
out by an aid society in the East. I am 
taking them to homes in Kansas, mostly 
in the country.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me,” the old 
gentleman exclaimed in surprise, “ that 
you have the care of that entire car full 
of children! How do you ever manage 
them all? ” 

The man grinned. “ It does look like 
a case of the old woman that lived in a 
shoe, but there are not as many as it 
would seem. They can spread them- 
selves over a good deal of territory, and 
I’m blessed if some of ’em can’t be in 
half a dozen places at once. There’s a 
6 




33t0 Brotljer ^ 

little English girl in the lot — fourteen 
years or thereabouts — that keeps a 
pretty sharp eye on them. Then they’re 
mostly raised to taking care of them- 
selves.” Some one accosted him, and he 
turned away. Grace looked up at the 
bewitching little face, still watching her 
with eager interest. 

“ Poor baby ! ” she said to herself. 
“ Poor little homeless curly head! If I 
could only do something for you ! ” 
Then she realized that even the oppor- 
tunity she had was slipping away, and 
held up the box. “ Here, Robin,” she 
called, “ take it inside so that you can 
eat them without spilling them.” 

“ All of ’em? ”'he asked with a radiant 
smile. He stretched out his 
dirty, dimpled fingers. “ All 
of ’em,” he repeated with sat- 
isfaction as he balanced the 




7 


38tg lSrotl)^r 


box on the sill. “ All for Big Brother 
and me! ” 

Another face appeared at the window 
beside Robin’s, one very much like it; 
grave and sweet, with the same delicate 
moulding of features. There was no 
halo of sunny curls on the finely shaped 
head, but the persistent wave of the 
darker, closely cut hair showed what it 
had been at Robin’s age. There was no 
colour in the face either. The lines of 
the sensitive mouth had a pathetic sug- 
gestion of suppressed trouble. He was 
a manly-looking boy, but his face was 
far too sad for a child of ten. 

“ Grade,” said Mrs. Estel, “ your 
father said the train will not start for 
fifteen minutes. He has gone back to 
stay with your mother. Would you like 
to go through the car with me, and take 
a look at the little waifs? ” 

‘‘ Yes, indeed,” was the answer. 

8 




^ iStg iSrotiigr ^ 

“ Think how far they have come. I 
wish we had found them sooner.” 

A lively game of tag was going on in 
the aisle. Children swarmed over the 
seats and under them. One boy was 
spinning a top. Two or three 
were walking around on their 
hands, with their feet in the air. 

The gayest group seemed to be 
in the far end of the car, where 
two seats full of children were amusing 
themselves by making faces at 
other. The uglier the contortion 
more frightful the grimace, the lou der 
they laughed. 

In one corner the English 
girl whom the man had men- 
tioned sat mending a little cro- 
cheted jacket belonging to one 
of the children. She was indeed 
keeping a sharp eye on them. 

“ ’Enry,” she called authori- 



9 


^ 3313 J3rotJ}er ^ 



tatively, “ stop teasing those girls, Hi 
say. Pull the ’airs from your hown ’ead, 
and see ’ow you like that naow! Sally, 
you shall not drink the ’ole enjuring 
time. Leave the cup be! No, Maggie, 
Hi can tell no story naow. Don’t you 
see Hi must be plying my needle? Go 
play, whilst the car stops.” 

Robin smiled on Grace like an old 
friend when she appeared at the door, 
and moved over to make room for her 
on the seat beside him. He had no fear 
of strangers, so he chattered away in 
confiding baby fashion, but the older 
boy said nothing. Sometimes he smiled 
when she told some story 
that made Robin laugh out 
heartily, but it seemed to 
her that it was because the 
little brother was pleased 
that he laughed, not because 
he listened. 


10 


3Stg iSrotljEr 







Presently Mrs. Estel touched her on 
the shoulder. “ The time is almost up. 
I am going to ask your father to bring 
my things in here. As you leave at the 
next station, I could not have your com- 
pany much longer, anyhow. I have all 
the afternoon ahead of me, and I want 
something to amuse me.” 

“ I wish I could stay with you,” an- 
swered Grace, ‘‘ but mamma is such an 
invalid I cannot leave her 
that long. She would be ! 
worrying about me all " 
the time.” 

She bade Robin 
an affec t i o n a t e 
good - bye, telling 
him that he was 
the dearest little fel- 
low in the world, 
and that she could 
never forget him. 

II 


15:' 


33i0 iSrotljer 


He followed her with big, wistful eyes 
as she passed out, but smiled happily 
when she turned at the door to look back 
and kiss her hand to him. 

At the next station, where they 
stopped for a few minutes, he watched 
for her anxiously. Just as the train be- 
gan to pull out he caught a glimpse of 
her. There was a flutter of a white 
handkerchief and a bundle came flying 
in through the window. 

He looked out quickly, just in time to 
see her stepping into a carriage. Then 
a long line of freight cars obstructed 
the view. By the time they had passed 
them they were beyond even the strag- 
gling outskirts of the village, with wide 
cornfields stretching in every direction, 
and it was of no use to look for her any 
longer. 


12 


Brotiiei: 






CHAPTER II 

THE WAIFS 

RS. ESTEL lost no time 
in making the young 
English girl’s acquaint- 
ance. She was scarcely 
settled in her seat before 
she found an opportunity. 
Her umbrella slipped from the rack, and 
the girl sprang forward to replace it. 

“ You have had a tiresome journey,” 
Mrs. Estel remarked pleasantly after 
thanking her. 

“ Yes, indeed, ma’am! ” answered the 
girl, glad of some one to talk to instead 
of the children, whose remarks were 
strictly of an interrogative nature. It 
was an easy matter to draw her into 
13 



^ 3Si0 13r0t}jer 

conversation, and in a short time Mrs. 
Estel was listening to little scraps of his- 
tory that made her eyes dim and her 
heart ache. 

“ Do you mind telling me your 
name? ” she asked at length. 

‘‘ Ellen, ma’am.” 

“ But the other,” continued Mrs. Es- 
tel. 

« — 4. 4.^ 4.^12^ ma’am.” Then 

he look of inquiry 



n7// been told not 

to say where we’re 
'jj') going, nor h a n y 
think helse.” 


\ ! J j basking the little 

I I I j ones hall sorts 
hof questions ; so 


plained, “ S o m e - 


on her face, ex- 


times strangers 
make trouble. 


“ I understand,” answered Mrs. Estel 
quickly. “ I ask only because I am so 
much interested. I have a little girl at 
home that I have been away from for a 
week, but she has a father and a grand- 
mother and a nurse to take care of her 
while I am gone. It makes me feel so 
sorry for these poor little things turned 
out in the world alone.” 

‘‘Bless you, ma’am!” exclaimed El- 
len cheerfully. “ The ’omes they’re go- 
ing to be a sight better than the ’omes 
they’ve left behind. Naow there’s ’En- 
ery; ’is mother died hin a drunken fit. 
’E never knew nothink hall ’is life but 
beating and starving, till the Haid So- 
ciety took ’im hin ’and. 

“ Then there’s Sally. Why, Sally’s 
living ’igh naow — hoff the fat hof the 
land, has you might say. Heverybody 
knows ’ow ’er hold huncle treated ’er! ” 
Mrs. Estel smiled as she glanced at 


15 


J3{g 33rot{jer 
^ 


ICC WATER 



Sally, to whom the faucet of the water- 
cooler seemed a never-failing source of 
amusement. Ellen had put a stop to her 
drinking, which she had been doing at 
intervals all the morning, solely for the 
pleasure of seeing the water stream out 
when she turned the stop-cock. Now 
she had taken a tidy spell. Holding her 
bit of a handkerchief under 
the faucet long enough to 
get it dripping wet, she 
scrubbed herself with the 
ice-water until her cheeks 
shone like rosy winter 
apples. 

Then she smoothed the 
wet, elfish-looking hair out 
of her black eyes, and pro- 
ceeded to scrub such of the 
smaller children as could 
not escape from her relent- 
less grasp. Some sub- 
t6 


^ Big 33rot{)er ^ 


mitted dumbly, and others struggled 
under her vigorous application of the 
icy rag, but all she attacked came out 
clean and shining. 

Her dress was wringing wet in front, 
and the water was standing in puddles 
around her feet, when the man who had 
them in charge came through the car 
again. He whisked her impatiently into 
a seat, setting her down hard. She made 
a saucy face behind his back, and began 
to sing at the top of her voice. 

One little tot had fallen and bumped 
its head as the train gave a sudden 
lurch. It was crying pitifully, but in 
subdued sort of whimper, as if it 
felt that crying was of no use 
when nobody listened and nobody 
cared. He picked it up, made a 
clumsy effort to comfort it, 
and, not knowing what else to do. 



17 


JUtg 3Sr0tJ}er 

^ 

sat down beside it. Then for the first 
time he noticed Mrs. Estel. 

She had taken a pair of scissors from 
her travelling-bag, and had cut several 
newspapers up into soldiers and dolls 
and all kinds of animals for the crowd 
that clamoured around her. 

They were such restless little bodies, 
imprisoned so long on this tedious jour- 
ney, that anything with a suggestion of 
novelty was welcome. 

When she had supplied them with a 
whole regiment of soldiers and enough 
animals to equip a menagerie, she took 
another paper and began teaching them 
to fold it in curious ways to make boxes, 
and boats, and baskets. 

One by one they crowded up closer to 
her, watching her as if she were some 
wonderful magician. They leaned their 
dusty heads against her fresh gray trav- 
* elling-dress. They touched her dainty 

i8 



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^ 3Stg Brotfier ^ 

gloves with dirty, admiring fingers. 
They did not know that this was the 
first time that she had ever come in 
close contact with such lives as theirs. 

They did not know that it was the 
remembrance of another child, — one 
who awaited her home-coming, — a 
petted little princess born to purple and 
fine linen, that made her so tender 
towards them. Remembering what hers 
had, and all these lacked, she felt that 
she must crowd all the brightness possi- 
ble into the short afternoon they were 
together. 

Every one of them, at some time in 
their poor bare lives, had known what 
it was to be kindly spoken to by elegant 
ladies, to be patronizingly smiled upon, 
to be graciously presented with gifts. 

But this was different. This one took 
the little Hodge girl right up in her lap 
while she was telling them stories. This 
19 


^ Btfl iSrottn ^ 

one did not pick out the pretty ones to 
talk to, as strangers generally did. It 
really seemed that the most neglected 
and unattractive of them received the 
most of her attention. 

From time to time she glanced across 
at Robin’s lovely face, and contrasted it 
with the others. The older boy at- 
tracted her still more. He seemed to be 
the only thoughtful one among them all. 

The others remembered no past, looked 
forward to no future. When they were 
hungry there was something to eat. 

When they were tired they could sleep, 
and all the rest of the time there was 
somebody to play with. What more 
could one want? 

The child never stirred from his place, 
but she noticed that he made a constant 
effort to entertain Robin. He told him 
stories and invented little games. When 
the bundle came flying in through the 


20 


^ 3Btg Brottiet ^ 

window he opened it with eager curi- 
osity. 

Grace had hurried into the village 
store as soon as the train stopped and 
had bought the first toy she happened 
to see. It was a black dancing bear, 
worked by a tiny crank hidden under 
the bar on which it stood. Robin’s 
pleasure was unbounded, and his shrieks 
of delight brought all the children flock- 
ing around him. 

“ More dancin’, Big Brother,” he 
would insist, when the animal paused. 
“ Robin wants to see more dancin’.” 

So patient little “ Big Brother ” 
kept on turning the crank, long 
after every one save Robin was tired 
of the black bear’s antics. 

Once she saw the restless ’Enry 
trying to entice him into a game of 
tag in the aisle. Big Brother shook 
his head, and the fat little legs clam- 


3Sig 33rotjjer ^ 

bered up on the seat again. Robin 
watched Mrs. Estel with such longing 
eyes as she entertained the others that 
she beckoned to him several times to 
join them, but he only bobbed his curls 
gravely and leaned farther back in his 
seat. 

Presently the man strolled down the 
aisle again to close a window, out of 
which one fidgety boy kept leaning to 
spit at the flying telegraph-poles. On 
his way back Mrs. Estel stopped him. 

“ Will you please tell me about those 
two children? ” she asked, glancing to- 
wards Robin and his brother. “ I am 
very much interested in them, and 
would gladly do something for them, if 
I could.” 

“ Certainly, madam,” he replied def- 
erentially. He felt a personal sense of 
gratitude towards her for having kept 
three of his most unruly charges quiet 
22 


^ iSig Brotfjer ^ 

so long. He felt, too, that she did not 
ask merely from idle curiosity, as so 
many strangers had done. 

“ Yes, everybody asks about them, for 
they are uncommon bright-looking, but 
it’s very little anybody knows to tell.” 

Then he gave her their history in a 
few short sentences. Their father had 
been killed in a railroad accident early 
in the spring. Their mother had not 
survived the terrible shock more than a 
week. No trace could be found of any 
relatives, and there was no property left 
to support them. Several good 
homes had been offered to the 
children singly in different 
towns, but no one was 
willing to take both. 

They clung together in 
such an agony of grief, 
when an attempt was 

23 



33{g JSrotljer 




made at separation, that no one had the 
heart to part them. 

Then some one connected with the 
management of the Aid Society opened 
a correspondence with an old farmer of 
his acquaintance out West. It ended in 
his offering to take them both for a 
while. His married daughter, who had 
no children of her own, was so charmed 
with Robin’s picture that she wanted to 
adopt him. She could not be ready to 
take him, though, before they moved 
into their new house, which they were 
building several miles away. The old 
farmer wanted the older boy to help him 
with his market gardening, and was 
willing to keep the little one until his 
daughter was ready to take him. So 
they could be together for awhile, and 
virtually they would always remain in 
the same family. 

Mr. Dearborn was known to be such 
24 




.. 35t0 Brotijcr .. 

an upright, reliable man, so generous 
and kind-hearted in all his dealings, 
that it was decided to accept his 
offer. 

“ Do they go much farther? ” asked 
the interested listener, when he had told 
her all he knew of the desolate little pil- 
grims. 

Only a few miles the other side of 
Kenton,” he answered. 

“ Why, Kenton is where I live,” she 
exclaimed. “ I am glad it will be so 
near.” Then as he passed on she 
thought to herself, “ It would be cruel 
to separate them. I never saw such de- 
votion as that of the older boy.” His 
feet could not reach the floor, but he sat 
up uncomfortably on the high seat, hold- 
ing Robin in his lap. The curly head 
rested heavily on his shoulder, and his 
arms ached with their burden, but he 
never moved except to brush away the 
25 


Big Brotfjcr 

^ 


flies, or fan the flushed face of the little 
sleeper with his hat. 

Something in the tired face, the large 
appealing eyes, and the droop of the sen- 
sitive mouth, touched her deeply. She 
crossed the aisle and sat down by him. 

“ Here, lay him on the seat,” she said, 
bending forward to arrange her shawl 
for a pillow. 

He shook his head. “ Robin likes best 
for me to hold him.” 

[ I “ But he will be cooler 

'and so much more com- 
— ! fortable,” she urged. Tak- 
ing the child from his un- 
willing arms, she stretched 
him full length on the im- 
provised bed. 

Involuntarily the boy 
drew a deep sigh of relief, 
_ and leaned back in the 



corner. 

26 


Brotf)er ^ 

“ Are you very tired? ” she asked. “ I 
have not seen you playing with the other 
children.” 

“ Yes’m,” he answered. ‘‘ WeVe come 
such a long way. I have to amuse Robin 
all the time he’s awake, or he’ll cry to 
go back home.” 

“ Where was your home? ” she asked 
kindly. “ Tell me about it.” 

He glanced up at her, and with a 
child’s quick instinct knew that he had 
found a friend. The tears 
that he had been bravely 
holding back all the after- 
noon for Robin’s sake could 
no longer be restrained. 

He sat for a minute try- 
ing to wink them away, 

Then he laid his head wear- 
ily down on the window- 
sill and gave way to his grief 
with great choking sobs. 

27 



33t0 JSrotfjer 

^ w 


She put her arm around him and drew 
his head down on her shoulder. At first 
the caressing touch of her fingers, as 
they gently stroked his hair, made the 
tears flow faster. Then he grew quieter 
after awhile, and only sobbed at long 
intervals as he answered her ques- 
tions. 

His name was Steven, he said. He 
knew nothing of the home to which he 



Robin. He 
told her of 
the little 
white cot- 
tage in New 


they had 
lived, of the 
peach - trees 
that bloomed 


R 4oB(J * 

;r00d*sSfJ0J8 (53JB7j8ilJn gJJ«J 


** Came back, bdnsing a bcautis* 
fulli? mugtrateb stonssbooh "" 





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3St0 Brotljer 


around the house, of the beehive in the 
garden. 

He had brooded over the "recollec- 
tion of his lost home so long in silence 
that now it somehow comforted him 
to talk about it to this sympathetic 
listener. 

Soothed by her soft hand smooth- 
ing his hair, and exhausted by the heat 
and his violent grief, he fell asleep at 
last. It was almost dark when he awoke 
and sat up. 

‘‘ I must leave you at the next sta- 
tion,” Mrs. Estel said, “ but you are 
going only a few miles farther. Maybe 
I shall see you again some day.” She 
left him to fasten her shawl-strap, but 
presently came back, bringing a beau- 
tifully illustrated story-book that she 
had bought for the little daughter at 
home. 

“ Here, Steven,” she said, handing it 
29 


IStg 3Srot{}er 




to him. “ I have written my name and 
address on the fly-leaf. If you ever need 
a friend, dear, or are in trouble of any 
kind, let me know and I will help 
you.” 

He had known her only a few hours, 
yet, when she kissed him good-bye and 
the train went whirling on again, he felt 
that he had left his last friend behind 
him. 

When one is a child a month is a long 
time. Grandfathers say, “ That hap- 
pened over seventy years ago, but it 
seems just like yesterday.” Grandchil- 
dren say, “ Why, it was only yesterday 
we did that, but so much has happened 
since that it seems such a great while ! ” 

One summer day can stretch out like 
a lifetime at life’s beginning. It is only 
at three score and ten that we liken it to 
a weaver’s shuttle. 


e- 


30 


Big BrotJjer 






CHAPTER III 



THE NEW HOME 

T was in July when old 
John Dearborn drove to 
the station to meet the 
children. Now the white 
August lilies were stand- 
ing up sweet and tall 


by the garden fence. 

“ Seems like we’ve 
been here ’most always,' 
said Steven as they rustled 
around in the hay hunting 
eggs. His 
face had lost 
its expres- 
sion of sad- 
ness, so pa- 





Brottier ^ 


thetic in a child, as day after day Robin’s 
little feet pattered through the old home- 
stead, and no one came to take him 
away. 

Active outdoor life had put colour in 
his face and energy into his movements. 
Mr. Dearborn and his wife were not ex- 
acting in their demands, although they 
found plenty for him to do. The work 
was all new and pleas- 
and Robin was with 
everywhere. When 
he fed the tur- 
:eys, when he 
picked up chips, 
when he drove 
the cows to pas- 
ture, or gathered 
the vegetables 
for market, 
Robin followed 



32 


^ iStg asrotijer^ 

him everywhere, like a happy, dancing 
shadow. 

Then when the work was done there 
were the kittens in the barn and the 
swing in the apple-tree. A pond in the 
pasture sailed their shingle boats. A 
pile of sand, left from building the new 
ice-house, furnished material for in- 
numerable forts and castles. There 
was a sunny field and a green, leafy 
orchard. How could they help but be 
happy? It was summer-time and they 
were together. 

Steven’s was more than a brotherly 
devotion. It was with almost the ten- 
derness of mother-love that he watched 
the shining curls dancing down the walk 
as Robin chased the toads through the 
garden or played hide-and-seek with the 
butterflies. 

“ No, the little fellow’s scarcely a mite 
of trouble,” Mrs. Dearborn would say to 
33 


JSig ISrotljer 


the neighbours sometimes when they in- 
quired. “ Steven is real handy about 
dressing him and taking care of him, so 
I just leave it mostly to him.” 

Mrs. Dearborn was not a very observ- 
ing woman or she would have seen why 
he “ was scarcely a mite of trouble.” If 
there was never a crumb left on the 
door-step where Robin sat to eat his 
lunch, it was because Big Brother’s care- 
ful fingers had picked up every one. If 
she never found any tracks of little bare 
feet on the freshly scrubbed kitchen 
floor, it was because his watchful eyes 
had spied them first, and he had wiped 
away every trace. 

He had an instinctive feeling that if he 
would keep Robin with him he must not 
let any one feel that he was a care or an- 
noyance. So he never relaxed his watch- 
fulness in the daytime, and slept with 
one arm thrown across him at night. 






34 




Big BrotJicr 




Sometimes, after supper, when it was 
too late to go outdoors again, the 
restless little feet kicked thoughtlessly 
against the furniture, or the meddle- 
some fingers made Mrs. Dearborn look 
at him warningly over her spectacles 
and shake her head. 

Sometimes the shrill little voice, with 
its unceasing questions, seemed to an- 
noy the old farmer as he dozed over his 
weekly newspaper beside the lamp. 
Then, if it was too early to go to bed, 
Steven would coax him over in a cor- 
ner to look at the book that 


Mrs. Estel had given him, ex- 
plaining each picture in a low 
voice that could not disturb 
the deaf old couple. 


the old feeling of loneliness 
came back so overwhelmingly. 
Grandpa and Grandma, as 


It was at these times that 





35 


iSig BrotIjEr 


they called them, were kind in their way, 
but even to their own children they had 
been undemonstrative and cold. Often 
in the evenings they seemed to draw 
so entirely within themselves, she with 
her knitting and he with his paper or 
accounts, that Steven felt shut out, and 
apart. “ Just the strangers within thy 
gates,” he sometimes thought to him- 
self. He had heard that expression a 
long time ago, and it often came back 
to him. Then he would put his arm 
around Robin and hug him up close, 
feeling that the world was so big and 
lonesome, and that he had no one else 
to care for but him. 

Sometimes he took 
him up early to the 
little room under the 
roof, and, lying on 
the side of the bed. 





36 


^ iStfl Brotlier ^ 

made up more marvellous stories than 
any the book contained. 

Often they drew the big wooden 
rocking-chair close to the window, and, 
sitting with their arms around each 
other, looked out on the moonlit still- 
ness of the summer night. Then, with 
their eyes turned starward, they talked 
of the far country beyond; for Steven 
tried to keep undimmed in Robin’s baby 
memory a living picture of the father 
and mother he was so soon forgetting. 

‘‘ Don’t you remember,’’ 
he would say, “ how papa 
used to come home in 
the evening and take us 
both on his knees, 
and sing ‘ King- 
dom Coming ’ to 
us ? And 
how mamma 
laughed and 



^ iStfl iSrottjer ^ 

called him a big boy when he got down 
on the floor and played circus with us? 

“ And don’t you remember how we 
helped mamma make cherry pie for din- 
ner one day? You were on the door- 
step with some dough in your hands, 
and a greedy old hen came up and gob- 
bled it right out of your fingers.” 

Robin would laugh out gleefully at 
each fresh reminiscence, and then say: 

“ Tell some more 
r’members. Big 
Brother ! ” A n d so 
Big Brother would go 
on until a curly head 
I drooped over on his 
shoulder and a sleepy 
voice yawned “ Sand- 
man’s a-comin’.” 

The hands that un- 
dressed him were as 



38 


38t0 Brotljer 






patient and deft as a woman’s. He 
missed no care or tenderness. 

When he knelt down in his white 
gown, just where the patch of moon- 
light lay on the floor, his chubby hands 
crossed on Big Brother’s knee, there 
was a gentle touch of caressing fingers 
on his curls as his sleepy voice repeated 
the evening prayer the far-away mother 
had taught them. 

There was always one ceremony that 
had to be faithfully performed, no mat- 
ter how sleepy he might be. The black 
dancing bear 
had always 
to be put to 
bed in a 
cracker b o x i 
and covered ( 
with a 
piece of red 
flannel. 



Big iSrotfjer 

One night he looked up gravely as he 
folded it around his treasure and said, 

“ Robin tucks ze black dancin’ bear in 
bed, an’ Big Brother tucks in Robin. 
Who puts Big Brother to bed? ” 

“ Nobody, now,” answered Steven 
with a quivering lip, for his child’s heart 
ached many a night for the lullaby and 
bedtime petting he so sorely missed. 

“ Gramma Deebun do it? ” suggested 
Robin quickly. 

‘‘No; Grandma Dearborn has the 
rheumatism. She couldn’t walk up- 
stairs.” 

“ She got ze wizzim-tizzim,” echoed 
Robin solemnly. Then his face lighted 
up with a happy thought. “ Nev’ mind; 
Robin’ll put Big Brother to bed all ze 
nights when he’s a man.” And Big 
Brother kissed the sweet mouth and 
was comforted. 


40 


JStg 3Sroti}ec 




■0 


CHAPTER IV 

GETS INTO TROUBLE 

URING the summer Mr. 
Dearborn drove to town 
with fresh marketing 
every morning, starting 
early in order to get 
home by noon. Satur- 
days he took Steven with him, for that 
was the day he supplied his butter cus- 
tomers. 

The first time the boy made the trip 
he carried Mrs. Estel’s address in his 
pocket, which he had carefully copied 
from the fly-leaf of the book she had 
given him. Although he had not the 
remotest expectation of seeing her, 
there was a sense of companionship in 


ROBIN 



41 


^ aStg aSrottjer ^ 

the mere thought that she was in the 
same town with him. 

He watched the lamp-posts carefully 
as they went along, spelling out the 
names of the streets. All of a sudden 
his heart gave a bound. They had 
turned a corner and were driving along 
Fourth Avenue. He took the slip of 
paper from his pocket. Yes, he was 
right. That was the name of the street. 

Then he began to watch for the num- 
bers. 200, 300, 400 ; they passed on sev- 
eral more blocks. Mr. Dearborn drove 
up to the pavement and handed him the 
reins to hold, while he took the crock of 
butter into the house. Steven glanced 
up at the number. It was 812. Then 
the next one — no, the one after that — 
must be the place. 

It was a large, elegant house, hand- 
somer than any they had passed on the 
avenue. As long as it was in sight 


42 


33t0 JSrotljjr 




Steven strained his eyes for a backward 
look, but saw no one. 

Week after week he watched and 
waited, but the blinds were always 
closed, and he saw no signs of life about 
the place. Then one day he saw a car- 
riage stop at the gate. A lady all in 
black stepped out and walked slowly 
towards the house. Her long, heavy 
veil hid her face, but he thought he rec- 
ognized her. He was almost sure it was 
Mrs. Estel. He could hardly resist the 
inclination to run after her and 
speak to her; but while he hesi 
tated the great hall door swung 
back and shut her 
from sight. He won- 
dered what great 
trouble had come to 
her that she should 
be dressed in deep 
black. 




43 


33ig iSrotljer 




The hope of seeing her was the only 
thing about his weekly trips to town 
that he anticipated with any pleasure. 
It nearly always happened that some- 
time during the morning while he was 
gone Robin got into trouble. Nobody 
seemed to think that the reason the 
child was usually so good was due 
largely to Steven’s keeping him happily 
employed. He always tried to contrive 
something to keep him busy part of the 
morning; but Robin found no pleasure 
very long in solitary pursuits, and soon 
abandoned them. 

Once he took a ball of yarn from the 
darning-basket to roll after the white 
kitten. He did not mean to be mis- 
chievous any more than the white kit- 


lid, but the ball was part 



of Grandma Dearborn’s knit- 
^ ting work. When she 
jjP found the needles pulled 


44 


3St0 Brotljer 


out and the stitches dropped, she 
scolded him sharply. All her children 
had been grown up so long she had 
quite forgotten how to make allowances 
for things of that sort. 

There was a basket of stiff, highly 
coloured wax fruit on the marble- 
topped table in the parlour. Miss Bar- 
bara Dearborn had made it at board- 
ing-school and presented it to her sister- 
in-law many years before. How Robin 
ever managed to lift off the glass case 
without breaking it no one ever knew. 
That he had done so was evident, for in 
every waxen red-cheeked pear and slab- 
sided apple were the prints of his sharp 
little teeth. It seemed little short of 
sacrilege to Mrs. Dearborn, whose own 
children had regarded it for years from 
an admiring distance, fearing to lay un- 
lawful fingers even on the glass case 
that protected such a work of art. 

45 


aSrottier ^ 

He dropped a big white china button 
into the cake dough when Molly, “ the 
help,” had her back turned. It was all 
ready to be baked, and she unsuspect- 
ingly whisked the pan into the oven. 
Company came to tea, and Grandpa 
Dearborn happened to take the slice of 
cake that had the button in it. Manlike, 
he called every one’s attention to it, and 
his wife was deeply mortified. 

He left the pasture gate open so that 
the calves got into the garden. He broke 
Grandpa Dearborn’s shaving-mug, and 
ther all over 
the lavender 
le best pin- 
5 untied a bag 
en left in the 
to sun, to see 
Lt made it 
so soft in- 
. It was a 



3Si0 BrotJjer 






bag of feathers saved from the pickings 
of many geese. He was considerably 
startled when the down flew in all direc- 
tions, sticking to carpet and curtains, 
and making Molly much extra work on 
the busiest day in the week. 

But the worst time was when Steven 
came home to find him sitting in a cor- 
ner, crying bitterly, one 
hand tied to his chair. 

He had been put there 
for punishment. It 
seemed that busy morn- 
ing that everything he 
touched made trouble 
for somebody. At last 
his exploring little fin- 
gers found the plug of 
the patent churn. The 
next minute he was 
a woebegone spectacle, 
with the fresh butter- 



47 


ISrotfjer ^ 

milk pouring down on him, and spread- 
ing in creamy rivers all over the dairy 
floor. 

These weekly trips were times of 
great anxiety for Steven. He never 
knew what fresh trouble might greet 
him on his return. 

One day they sold out much earlier 
than usual. It was only eleven o’clock 
when they reached home. Grandma 
Dearborn was busy preparing dinner. 

Robin was not in sight. As soon as 
Steven had helped to unhitch the horses 
he ran into the house to look for him. 

There was no answer to his repeated 
calls. He searched all over the garden, 
thinking maybe the child was hiding 
from him and might jump out any mo- 
ment from behind a tree. 

He was beginning to feel alarmed 
when he saw two little bare feet slowly 
waving back and forth above the tall 
48 




Big ISrotljer 




orchard grass. He slipped over the 
fence and noiselessly along under the 
apple-trees. Robin was lying on his 
stomach watching something on the 
ground so intently that sometimes the 
bare feet forgot to wave over his back 
and were held up motionless. 

With one hand he was pulling along 
at a snail’s pace a green leaf, on which 
a dead bumble-bee lay in state. With 
the other he was keeping in order a fu- 
neral procession of caterpillars. It was 
a motley crowd of mourners that the 
energetic forefinger urged along the 
line of march. He had evidently col- 
lected them from many quarters, — lit- 
tle green worms that spun down from 
the apple boughs 1 


overhead; big furry 
brown caterpillars 
that had hurried 


along the honey- 
49 



3Stg ISrottjer 
^ — 

suckle trellis to escape his fat fingers; 
spotted ones and striped ones; horned 
and smooth. They all straggled along, 
each one travelling his own gait, each 
one bent on going a different direction, 
but all kept in line by that short deter- 
mined forefinger. 

Steven laughed so suddenly that the 
little master of ceremonies jumped up 
and turned a startled face towards him. 
Then he saw that there were traces of 
tears on the dimpled face and one eye 
was swollen nearly shut. 

“ O Robin! what is it now? ” he cried 
in distress. ‘‘ How did you hurt your- 
self so dreadfully? ” 

“Ole bumble!’’ answered Robin, 
pointing to the leaf. “ He flied in ze 
kitchen an’ sat down in ze apple peel- 
in’s. I jus’ poked him, nen he flied up 
and bit me. He’s dead now,” he added 
triumphantly. “ Gramma killed him. 

50 


33tg Brotljer 




See all ze cattow-pillows walkin’ in ze 
p’cession? ” 

So the days slipped by in the old 
farmhouse. Frost nipped the gardens, 
and summer vanished entirely from 
orchard and field. The happy outdoor 
life was at an end, and Robin was like 
a caged squirrel. Steven had his hands 
full keeping him amused and out of the 
way. 

“ Well, my lad, isn’t it about time for 
you to be starting to school?” Mr. 
Dearborn would ask occasionally. 
‘‘ You know I agreed to send you every 
winter, and I must live up to my prom- 
ises.” 

But Steven made first one pretext 
and then another for delay. He knew 
he could not take Robin with him. He 
knew, too, how restless and trouble- 
some the child would become if left at 
home all day. 


51 



3S{g BrotJjer 

So he could not help feeling glad 
when Molly went home on a visit, and 
Grandma Dearborn said her rheuma- 
tism was so bad that she needed his 
help. True, he had all sorts of tasks 
that he heartily despised, — washing 
dishes, kneading dough, sweeping and 
dusting, — all under the critical old 
lady’s exacting supervision. But he 
preferred even that to being sent off 
to school alone every day. 

One evening, just about sundown, he 
was out in the corncrib, shelling corn 
for the large flock of turkeys they 
were fattening for market. He heard 
Grandma Dearborn go into the barn, 




where her husband was 
milking. They were 
both a little deaf, and 
she spoke loud in or- 
der to be heard above 
the noise of the milk 
52 










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pattering into the pail. She had come 
out to look at one of the calves they 
intended selling. 

“ It’s too bad,” he heard her say, after 
a while. “ Rindy has just set her heart 
on him, but Arad, he thinks it’s all fool- 
ishness to get such a young one. He’s 
willing to take one big enough to do 
the chores, but he doesn’t want to feed 
and keep what ’ud only be a care to ’em. 
He always was closer’n the bark on a 
tree. After all, I’d hate to see the little 
fellow go.” 

“ Yes,” was the answer, ‘‘ he’s a likely 
lad; but we’re gettin’ old, mother, and 
one is about all we can do well by. 
Sometimes I think maybe we’ve bar- 
gained for too much, tryin’ to keep even 
one. So it’s best to let the little one go 
before we get to settin’ sech store by 
him that we can’t.” 

A vague terror seized Steven as he 
53 


realized who it was they were talking 
about. He lay awake a long time that 
night smoothing Robin’s tangled curls, 
and crying at the thought of the moth- 
erless baby away among strangers, 
with no one to snuggle him up warm 
or sing him to sleep. Then there was 
another thought that wounded him 
deeply. Twist it whichever way he 
might, he could construe Mr. Dear- 
born’s last remark to mean but one 
thing. They considered him a burden. 
How many plans he made night after 
night before he fell asleep! He would 
take Robin by the hand in the morning, 
and they would slip away and wander 
off to the woods together. They could 
sleep in bams at night, and he could 
stop at the farmhouses and do chores 
to pay for what they ate. Then they 
need not be a trouble to any one. 
Maybe in the summer they could find 
54 


35tg 33rotljet 




a nice dry cave to live in. Lots of peo- 
ple had lived that way. Then in a few 
years he would be big enough to have 
a house of his own. All sorts of im- 
probable plans flocked into his little 
brain under cover of the darkness, but 
always vanished when the daylight 
came. 


55 


CHAPTER V 

THE SEPARATION 


HE next Saturday that 
they went to town was 
a cold, blustering day. 
They started late, taking 
a lunch with them, not 
intending to come home 
until the middle of the afternoon. 

The wind blew a perfect gale by the 
time they reached town. Mr. Dearborn 
stopped his team in front of one of the 
principal groceries, saying, “ Hop out, 
Steven, and see what they’re paying for 
turkeys to-day.” 

As he sprang over the wheel an old 
gentleman came running around the 
56 




^ Big 3Srott)er ^ 

corner after his hat, which the wind had 
carried away. 

Steven caught it and gave it to him. 
He clapped it on his bald crown 
with a good-natured laugh. “ Thanky, 
sonny ! ” he exclaimed heartily. Then 
he disappeared inside the grocery just 
as Mr. Dearborn called out, “ I believe 
I’ll hitch the horses and go in too; I’m 
nearly frozen.” 

Steven followed him into the grocery, 
and they stood with their hands spread 
out to the stove while they waited for 
the proprietor. He was talking to the 
old gentleman 
whose hat Steven 
had rescued. 

H e seemed 
to be a very 
part icular 
kind of 



“Oh, go on! go on!” he exclaimed 
presently. “ Wait on those other peo- 
ple while I make up my mind.” 

While Mr. Dearborn was settling the 
price of his turkeys, the old gentleman 
poked around like an inquisitive boy, 
thumping the pumpkins, smelling the 
coffee, and taking occasional picks at 
the raisins. Presently he stopped in 
front of Steven with a broad, friendly 
smile on his face. 

“ You’re from the country, ain’t 
you? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Steven in aston- 
ishment. 

“ Came from there myself, once,” he 
continued with a chuckle. “ Law, law ! 
You’d never think it now. Fifty years 
makes a heap o’ difference.” 

He took another turn among the salt 
barrels and cracker boxes, then asked 
suddenly, “ What’s your name, sonny? ” 
58 





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^ Big Brotfjer ^ 

“ Steven,” answered the boy, still 
more surprised. 

The old fellow gave another chuckle 
and rubbed his hands together delight- 
edly. “Just hear that, will you!” he 
exclaimed. “ Why, that’s my name, my 
very own name, sir! Well, well, well, 
well ! ” 

He stared at the child until he be- 
gan to feel foolish and uncomfortable. 
What image of his own vanished youth 
did that boyish face recall to the eccen- 
tric old banker? 

As Mr. Dearborn turned to go Steven 
started after him. 

“ Hold on, sonny,” called the old gen- 
tleman, “ I want to shake hands with 
my namesake.” 

He pressed a shining half-dollar into 
the little mittened hand held out to him. 

‘‘ That’s for good luck,” he said. “ I 
was a boy myself, once. Law, law! 

59 


Sometimes I wish I could have stayed 
one.” 

Steven hardly knew whether to keep 
it or not, or what to say. The old gen- 
tleman had resumed conversation with 
the proprietor and waved him off im- 
patiently. 

“ I’ll get Robin some candy and save 
all the rest till Christmas,” was his first 
thought; but there was such a bewil- 
dering counter full of toys on one side 
of the confectioner’s shop that he 
couldn’t make up his mind to wait that 
long. 

He bought some shining sticks of red 
and white peppermint and turned to the 
toys. There was a tiny sailboat with a 
little wooden sailor on deck; but Robin 
would always be dabbling in the water 
if he got that. A tin horse and cart 
caught his eye. That would make such 
a clatter on the bare kitchen floor. 


6o 


Brotfier ^ 

At last he chose a gay yellow jump- 
ing- jack. All the way home he kept 
feeling the two little bundles in his 
pocket. He could not help smiling 
when the gables of the old house came 
in sight, thinking how delighted Robin 
would be. 

He could hardly wait till the 
horses were put away and fed, and 
he changed impatiently from one 
foot to another, while 
Mr. Dearborn 
searched in the straw 
of the wagon-bed for 
a missing package of 
groceries. Then he 
ran to the house and into 
the big, warm kitchen, 
all out of breath. 

“ Robin,” he called, as 
he laid the armful of 
groceries on the kitchen 




^ JSig Brotljer ^ 

^ — ^ 

table, “look what Brother’s brought 
you. Why, where’s Robin? ” he asked 
of Mrs. Dearborn, who was busy stir- 
ring something on the stove for supper. 

She had her back turned and did not 
answer. 

“Where’s Robin,” he asked again, 
peering all around to see where the 
bright curls were hiding. 

She turned around and looked at him 
over her spectacles. “ Well, I s’pose I 
may’s well tell you one time as an- 
other,” she said reluctantly. “ Rindy 
came for him to-day. We talked it 
over and thought, as long as there had 
to be a separation, it would be easier for 
you both, and save a scene, if you 
wasn’t here to see him go. He’s got a 
good home, and Rindy’ll be kind to 
him.” 

Steven looked at her in bewilderment, 
then glanced around the cheerful 
62 


3Sig JSrotljer .. 

kitchen. His slate lay on a chair where 
Robin had been scribbling and making 
pictures. The old cat that Robin had 
petted and played with that very morn- 
ing purred comfortably under the stove. 
The corncob house he had built was still 
in the corner. Surely he could not be 
so very far away. 

He opened the stair door and crept 
slowly up the steps to their little room. 
He could scarcely distinguish anything 
at first, in the dim light of the winter 
evening, but he saw enough to know 
that the little straw hat with the torn 
brim that he had worn in the summer 
time was not hanging on its peg behind 
the door. He looked in the washstand 
drawer, where his dresses were kept. It 
was empty. He opened the closet door. 
The new copper-toed shoes, kept for 
best, were gone, but hanging in one 


63 


( 4 ^ astg iSrotjjer ^ 


corner was the little checked gingham 
apron he had worn that morning. 

Steven took it down. There was the 
torn place by the pocket, and the patch 
on the elbow. He kissed the ruffle that 
had been buttoned under the dimpled 
chin, and the little sleeves that had 
clung around his neck so closely that 
morning. Then, with it held tight in 
his arms, he threw himself on the bed, 
sobbing over and over, “ It’s too cruel! 
It’sAoo cruel! They didn’t even let me 
tell him good-bye ! ” 

He did not go down to sup- 
per when Mrs. Dearborn called 
him, so she went up after a 
while with a glass of milk 
and a doughnut. 

“ There, there ! ” 
she said sooth- 
ingly; “don’t take 
it so hard. Try 
64 



Big Brotljet 




and eat something; you’ll feel better if 
you do.” 

Steven tried to obey, but every 
mouthful choked him. “ Rindy’ll be 
awful good to him,” she said after a 
long pause. “ She thinks he’s the love- 
liest child she ever set eyes on, but she 
was afraid her husband would think he 
was too much of a baby if she took him 
home with those long curls on. She cut 
’em off before they started, and I saved 
’em. I knew you’d be glad to have 
em. 

She lit the candle on the washstand 
and handed him a paper. He sat up and 
opened it. There lay the soft, silky 
curls, shining like gold in the candle- 
light, as they twined around his fingers. 
It was more than he could bear. His 
very lips grew white. 

Mrs. Dearborn was almost fright- 
ened. She could not understand how a 
65 




3S{g JSrotljer 


child’s grief could be so deep and pas- 
sionate. 

He drew them fondly over his wet 
cheeks, and pressed them against his 
quivering lips. Then laying his face 
down on them, he cried till he could cry 
no longer, and sleep came to his relief. 


66 




JStfi ISrotljer 




CHAPTER VI 

THE FIRST SNOW-STORM 



EXT morning, when 
Steven pulled the win- 
dow curtain aside, he 
seemed to be looking out 
on another world. The 
first snow of the winter 
covered every familiar object, and he 
thought, in his childish way, that last 
night’s experience had altered his life 
as the snowdrifts had changed the land- 
scape. 

He ate his breakfast and did up the 
morning chores mechanically. He 
seemed to be in a dream, and wondered 
dully to himself why he did not cry 
when he felt so bad. 

67 


33(0 33rotljer 


When the work was all done he stood 
idly looking out of the window. He 
wanted to get away from the house 
where everything he saw made his 
heart ache with the suggestion of 
Robin. 

“ I believe I’d like to go to church to- 
day,” he said in a listless tone. 

“ Yes, I’d go if I were you,” assented 
Mr. Dearborn readily. “ Mother and 
me’ll have to stay by the fire to-day, 
but I’ve no doubt it’ll chirk you up a 
bit to get outdoors a spell.” 

He started off, plodding through the 
deep snow. 

“ Takes it easier than I thought he 
would,” said Mr. Dearborn. “ Well, 
troubles never set very hard on young 
shoulders. He’ll get over it in a little 
while.” 

As Steven emerged from the lane 
into the big road he saw a sleigh com- 
68 




33tg JSrotfier 

ing towards him, driven by the doctor’s 
son. As it drew nearer a sudden 
thought came to him like an inspira- 
tion. 

“ O Harvey ! ” he cried, running for- 
ward. “ Will you take me with you as 
far as Simpson’s? ” 

“Why, yes, I guess so,” answered 
the boy good-naturedly. 

He was not surprised at the 
request, knowing that 
Mrs. Dearborn and 
Mrs. Simpson were sis- 
ters, and supposing 
that Steven had been 
sent on some errand. 

It was three miles to 
the Simpson place, but 
they seemed to have 
reached it in as many minutes. < 

Harvey turned off towards his 


69 



Brotijer ^ 

own home, while Steven climbed out 
and hurried along the public road. 

“ Half-way there ! ” he said to him- 
self. He was going to town to find 
Mrs. Estel. 

He was a long time on the way. A 
piercing wind began to blow, and a 
blinding snow-storm beat in his face. 

He was numb with cold, hungry, and 
nearly exhausted. But he thought of 
little Robin fifteen miles away, crying 
at the strange faces around him; and 
for his sake he stumbled bravely on. 

He had seen Mrs. Dearborn’s daugh- 
ter several times. She was a kind, 
good-natured woman, half-way afraid 
of her husband. As for Arad Pierson 
himself, Steven had conceived a strong 
dislike. He was quick-tempered and 
rough, with a loud, coarse way of speak- 
ing that always startled the sensitive 
child. 


70 


miojasswofte enlOnUd ^ » 
'' 8id ni JR3(J 


blinking 0now»0torm 
beat in bi0 face 










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33ig JSrotIjer ^ 

Suppose Robin should refuse to be 
comforted, and his crying annoyed 
them. Could that black-browed, heavy- 
fisted man be cruel enough to whip such 
a baby? Steven knew that he would. 

The thought spurred him on. It 
seemed to him that he had been days 
on the road when he reached the house 
at last, and stood shivering on the steps 
while he waited for some one to answer 
his timid ring. 

“ No, you can’t speak to Mrs. Estel,” 
said the pompous coloured man who 
opened the door, and who evidently 
thought that he had come on some beg- 
gar’s mission. ‘‘ She never sees any one 
now, and I’m sure she wouldn’t see 
you.” 

“Oh, please!” cried Steven desper- 
ately, as the door was about to be shut 
in his face. “ She told me to come, and 
I’ve walked miles through the storm, 
71 


33ig SBrotljer 


and I’m so cold and tired! Oh, I can’t 
go back without seeing her.” 

His high, piercing voice almost 
wailed out the words. Had he come 
so far only to be disappointed at last? 

“What is it, Alec?” he heard some 
one call gently. 

He recognized the voice, and in his 
desperation darted past the man into 
the wide reception hall. 

He saw the sweet face of the lady, 
who came quickly forward, and heard 
her say, “ Why, what is the matter, my 
child? ” 

Then, overcome by the sudden 
change from the cold storm to the trop- 
ical warmth of the room, he dropped 
on the floor, exhausted and uncon- 
scious. 

It was a long time before Mrs. Estel 
succeeded in thoroughly reviving him. 
Then he lay on a wide divan with his 
72 




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iSig iSrotijer 




head on her lap, and talked quietly of 
his trouble. 

He was too worn out to cry, even 
when he took the soft curls from his 
pocket to show her. But her own re- 
cent loss had made her vision keen, and 
she saw the depth of suffering in the 
boy’s white face. As she twisted the 
curls around her finger and thought of 
her own fair-haired little one, with the 
deep snow drifting over its grave, her 
tears fell fast. 

She made a sudden resolution. 

“ You shall come here,” she said. 

“ I thought when my little Doro- 
thy died I could never bear to 
hear 
again, 
hers 
was 
still. 

But 




3Sig JSrotljfr 


such grief is selfish. We will help each 
other bear ours together. Would you 
like to come, dear? ” 

Steven sat up, trembling in his great 
excitement. 

“ O Mrs. Estel! ’’ he cried, “ couldn’t 
you take Robin instead? I could be 
happy anywhere if I only knew he was 
taken care of. You are so different 
from the Piersons. I wouldn’t feel bad 
if he was with you, and I could see him 
every week. He is so pretty and sweet 
you couldn’t help loving him ! ” 

She stooped and kissed him. “ You 
dear, unselfish child, you make me want 
you more than ever.” 

Then she hesitated. She could not 
decide a matter involving so much in 
a moment’s time. Steven, she felt, 
would be a comfort to her, but Robin 
could be only a care. Lately she had 
felt the mere effort of living to be a 
74 




burden, and she did not care to make 
any exertion for any one else. 

All the brightness and purpose seemed 
to drop out of her life the day that little 
Dorothy was taken away. Her hus- 
band had tried everything in his power 
to arouse her from her hopeless des- 
pondency, but she refused to be com- 
forted. 

Steven’s trouble had touched the first 
responsive chord. She looked down 
into his expectant face, feeling that she 
could not bear to disappoint him, yet 
unwilling to make a promise that in- 
volved personal exertion. 

Then she answered slowly, “ I wish 
my husband were here. I cannot give 
you an answer without consulting him. 
Then, you see the society that sent you 
out here probably has some written 
agreement with these people, and if 
they do not want to give him up we 
75 


^3St0 ISrottjer 

might find it a difficult matter to get 
him. Mr. Estel will be home in a few 
days, and he will see what can be done.” 

That morning when Steven had been 
seized with a sudden impulse to find 
Mrs. Estel he had no definite idea of 
what she could do to help him. It had 
never occurred to him for an instant 
that she would offer to take either of 
them to live with her. He thought only 
of that afternoon on the train, when her 
sympathy had comforted him so much, 
and of her words at parting : “ If you 
ever need a friend, dear, or are in 
trouble of any kind, let me know and I 
will help you.” It was that promise 
that lured him on all that weary way 
through the cold snow-storm. 

With a child’s implicit confidence he 
turned to her, feeling that in some way 
or other she would make it all right. It 
was a great disappointment when he 
76 


33t0 iSroti^er 




found she could do nothing immedi- 
ately, and that it might be weeks before 
he could see Robin again. 

Still, after seeing her and pouring out 
his troubles, he felt like a different boy. 
Such a load seemed lifted from his 
shoulders. He actually laughed while 
repeating some of Robin’s queer little 
speeches to her. Only that morning he 
had felt that he could not even smile 
again. 

Dinner cheered him up still more. 
When the storm had abated, Mrs. Estel ^ 
wrapped him up and sent ^ 

him home in her sleigh, tell- 
ing him that she 
wanted him to spend 
Thanks giving Day 
with her. She 
thought she would 
know by that time 
whether she could 

77 



Big Brotijer 






take Robin or not. At any rate, she 
wanted him to come, and if he would 
tell Mr. Dearborn to bring her a turkey 
on his next market day, she would ask 
his permission. 

All the way home Steven wondered 
nervously what the old people would 
say to him. He dreaded to see the fa- 
miliar gate, and the ride came to an end 
so very soon. To his great relief he 
found that they had scarcely noticed 
his absence. Their only son and his 
family had come unexpectedly from the 
next State to stay over Thanksgiving, 
and everything else had been forgotten 
in their great surprise. 

The days that followed were full of 
pleasant anticipations for the family. 
Steven went in and out among them, 
helping busily with the preparations, 
but strangely silent among all the mer- 
riment. 


78 


3St5 33rotfjet 




Mr. Dearborn took his son to town 
with him the next market day, and 
Steven was left at home to wait and 
wonder what message Mrs. Estel might 
send him. 

He hung around until after his usual 
bedtime, on their return, but could not 
muster up courage to ask. The hope 
that had sprung up within him flickered 
a little fainter each new day, until it 
almost died out. 

It was a happy group that gathered 
around the breakfast table early on 
Thanksgiving morning. 

“ All here but Rindy,” said Mr. Dear- 
born, looking with smiling eyes from 
his wife to his youngest grandchild. 
“ It’s too bad she couldn’t come, but 
Arad invited all his folks to spend the 
day there; so she had to give up and 
stay at home. Well, we’re all alive and 
well, anyhow. That’s my greatest cause 
79 


^ 38{0 iSr ottier ^ 


for thankfulness. What’s yours, 
Jane? ” he asked, nodding towards his 
wife. 

As the question passed around the 
table, Steven’s thoughts went back to 
the year before, when their little family 
had all been together. He remembered 
how pretty his mother had looked that 
morning in her dark blue dress. There 
was a bowl of yellow chrysanthemums 
blooming ^r^on the table, and a 


streak of 
ing a- 



sunshine, fall- 
cross them and 
in’s hair, 
seemed to turn 
them both to 
gold. Now he 
was all alone. 
The contrast 
was too pain- 
ful. He slipped 
from the table 


^10 iSrotljer 




unobserved, and stole noiselessly up the 
back stairs to his room. The little 
checked apron was hanging on a chair 
by the window. He sat down and laid 
his face against it, but his eyes were 
dry. He had not cried any since that 
first dreadful night. 

There was such a lively clatter of 
dishes down-stairs and babel of voices 
that he did not hear a sleigh drive up 
in the soft snow. 

“ Steven,” called Mr. Dearborn from 
the foot of the stairs, “ I promised Mrs. 
Estel to let you spend the day with her, 
but there was so much goin’ on I plum 
forgot to tell you. You’re to stay all 
night too, she says.” 


8i 


iSrotiiei; 




CHAPTER VII 


A HAPPY THANKSGIVING 



HE ride to town seemed 
endless to the impatient 
boy. He was burning 
with a feverish anxiety 
to know about Robin, but 
the driver whom he ques- 
tioned could not tell. 

“ Mrs. Estel will be 
down presently,” was 
the message with which 
he was ushered into the 
long d r a wing-room. 
He sat down uncom- 
fortably on the edge of 
a chair to wait. 
He almost dreaded 
1^82 



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to hear her coming for fear she might 
tell him that the Piersons would not 
give Robin up. Maybe her husband 
had not come home when she expected 
him. Maybe he had been too busy to 
attend to the matter. A dozen possible 
calamities presented themselves. 

Unconsciously he held himself so 
rigid in his expectancy that he fairly 
ached. Ten minutes dragged by, with 
only the crackle of the fire on the 
hearth to disturb the silence of the 
great room. 

Then light feet pattered down the 
stairs and ran across the broad hall. 
The portiere was pushed aside and a 
bright little face looked in. In another 
instant Robin’s arms were around his 
neck, and he was crying over and over 
in an ecstasy of delight, “ Oh, it’s Big 
Brother! It’s Big Brother! ” 

Not far away down the avenue a 
83 


3Bis Brother 


great church organ was rolling out its 
accompaniment to a Thanksgiving an- 
them. Steven could not hear the words 
the choir chanted, but the deep music 
of the organ seemed to him to be but 
the echo of what was throbbing in his 
own heart. 

There was no lack of childish voices 
and merry laughter in the great house 
that afternoon. A spirit of thanksgiv- 
ing was in the very atmosphere. No 
one could see the overflowing happiness 
of the children without sharing it in 
some degree. 

More than once during dinner Mrs. 
Estel looked across the table at her hus- 
band and smiled as she had not in 
months. 

Along in the afternoon the winter 
sunshine tempted the children out-of- 
doors, and they commenced to build a 
snow man. They tugged away at the 
84 




^ JStg BrotJjer 

^ ^ 

huge image, with red cheeks and spark- 
ling eyes, so full of out-breaking fun 
that the passers-by stopped to smile at 
the sight. 

Mrs. Estel stood at the library win- 
dow watching them. Once, when Rob- 
in’s fat little legs stumbled and sent him 
rolling over in the snow, she could not 
help laughing at the comical sight. 

It was a low, gentle laugh, but Mr. 
Estel heard, and, laying aside his news- 
paper, joined her at 
the window. He 
had almost de- 
spaired of ever see- 
ing a return to the 
old sunny charm 
of face and man- 
ner. 

They stood 
there together 
in silence 



iSrotijer 

few moments, watching the two romp- 
ing boys, who played on, unconscious 
of an audience. 

“ What a rare, unselfish disposition 
that little ‘ Big Brother ’ has! ” Mr. Es- 
tel said presently. “ It shows itself even 
in their play.’’ Then he added warmly, 
turning to his wife, “ Dora, it would be 
downright cruel to send him away from 
that little chap.” 

He paused a moment. “ We used to 
find our greatest pleasure in making 
Dorothy happy. We lavished every- 
thing on her. Now we can never do 
anything more for her.” 

There was another long pause, while 
he turned his head away and looked out 
of the window. 

“ Think what a lifelong happiness it 
is in our power to give those children! 
Dora, can’t we make room for both of 
them for her sake? ” 


86 


33ig BrotJjer 


Mrs. Estel hesitated, then laid both 
her hands in his, bravely smiling back 
her tears. “ Yes, I’ll try,” she said, 
“ for little Dorothy’s sake.” 

That night, as Steven undressed 
Robin and tucked him up snugly in the 
little white bed, he felt that nothing 
could add to his great happiness. He 
sat beside him humming an old tune 
their mother had often sung to them, 
in the New Jersey home so far away. 

The blue eyes closed, but still he kept 
on humming softly to himself, “ Oh, 
happy day ! happy day ! ” 

Presently Mrs. Estel came in and 
drew a low rocking-chair up to the fire. 
Steven slipped from his place by Rob- 
in’s pillow and sat down on the rug 
beside her. 

Sitting there in the fire-light, she told 
him all about her visit to the Piersons. 
They had found Robin so unmanage- 
87 


able and so different from what they 
expected that they were glad to get rid 
of him. Mr. Estel had arranged mat- 
ters satisfactorily with the Society, and 
they had brought Robin home several 
days ago. 

“ I had a long talk with Mr. Dear- 
born the other day,” she continued. 
“ He said his wife’s health is failing, 
and their son is trying to persuade them 
to break up housekeeping and live with 
them. If she is no better in the spring, 
they will probably do so.” 

“ Would they want me to go? ” asked 
Steven anxiously. 

“ It may be so; I cannot tell.” 

Steven looked up timidly. “ I’ve 
been wanting all day to say thank you, 
the way I feel it; but somehow, the 
right words won’t come. I can’t tell 
you how it is, but it seems ’most like 
sending Robin back home for you and 
88 


33tg Brotljer 


Mr. Estel to have him. Somehow, your 
ways and everything seem so much like 
mamma’s and papa’s, and when I think 
about him having such a lovely home, 
oh, it just seems like this is a Thanks- 
giving Day that will last always ! ” 

She drew his head against her knee 
and stroked it tenderly. “ Then how 
would you like to live here yourself, 
dear?” she asked. “Mr. Estel thinks 
that we need two boys.” 

“ Oh, does he really want me, too? 
It’s too good to be true ! ” Steven was 
kneeling beside her now, his eyes shin- 
ing like stars. 

“ Yes, we both want you,” answered 
Mrs. Estel. “ You shall be our own lit- 
tle sons.” 

Steven crept nearer. “ Papa and 
mamma will be so glad,” he said in a 
tremulous whisper. Then a sudden 
thought illuminated his earnest face. 

89 


^ 33tg JSrotIjEr 

I 

“ O Mrs. Estel ! Don’t you suppose 
they have found little Dorothy in that 
other country by this time, and are tak- 
ing care of her there, just like you are 
taking care of us here? ” 

She put her arm around him, and 
drew him nearer, saying: “My dear 
little comfort, it may be so. If I could 
believe that, I could never feel so un- 
happy again.” 

Robin and “ ze black dancin’ bear ” 
were not the only ones tucked tenderly 
away to sleep that night. 

The sleigh bells jingled along the 
avenue. Again the great church organ 
rolled out a mighty flood of melody, 
that ebbed and flowed on the frosty 
night air. 

And Big Brother, with his head pil- 
lowed once more beside Robin’s, lay 
with his eyes wide open, too happy to 
sleep — lay and dreamed of the time 


90 


. Big Brotfjer .. 

when he should be a man, and could 
gather into the great house he meant 
to own all the little homeless ones in 
the wide world; all the sorry little 
waifs that strayed through the streets 
of great cities, that crowded in miser- 
able tenements, that lodged in asylums 
and poorhouses. 

Into his child’s heart he gathered 
them all, with a sweet unselfishness 
that would have gladly shared with 
every one of them his new-found home 
and happiness. 


THE END. 


91 





































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